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...continued...
Well, it's been a while, but I've finally returned and here is a quick ***-bit for the continuation:
The Rescue
The days and nights had melded into one. For Joan de Arc, the darkness of the Berlin dungeons was her only companion. General la Fayette had taken great pride in telling her that Joan's direct descendents had been imprisoned in the very same cell so many centuries ago during the last war for the throne. Like she had done so many times before, Joan sighed a bone-weary sigh and shifted position to try and relieve the soreness from lying on stones in one place for too long.
Joan ran her hand through the mop of unkempt brown hair that had grown while left to rot in her cell. She had always kept her head bald for the sake of maintenance, but that was now impossible. She felt something crawl through her hair and quickly withdrew her hand in disgust.
Her first weeks in the dungeon had been spent trying to find out what was going on from the guards, General la Fayette, even Bismark when he decided to come and crow about his victory. She had a vague idea about what was going on, but everybody seemed content to keep her in the dark, both literally and figuratively speaking.
There was no chance of escape from the prison, not unassisted anyway. The Berlin dungeons were well below ground, far away from light and with only one entrance and exit. Her path to freedom would be short, brutal and ultimately end in death. So, instead of contemplating escape, she mentally set about trying to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of what was going on.
The biggest piece she had was the reference Bismark had made to la Fayette just before she'd blacked out. 'Welcome back to the French-Germans.' he had said, or as they were more commonly called, the Franco-Germans. The name seemed ridiculous, a hodge-podge of two names just rammed together to make one. But it was the lynch pin for her current predicament and she needed to build the puzzle around it to find her solution.
For some reason, a lot of people, both French and Germans, had strong, patriotic ties to the Franco-Germans. The fact that nearly her entire army had defected to this new clan gave testament to that. Apparently Bismark had an equally strong army outside of Berlin waiting in case the French contingent failed in their bid to liberate the city.
But exactly what were the origins of the Franco-Germans? How long had they existed in the dark, and why did Bismark make reference to the effect that la Fayette had effectively left the Franco-Germans before. General la Fayette was French born-and-bred. Joan, like any good clan leader, kept close tabs on her high ranking personnel. Obviously not close enough. She thought ironically.
Joan's thoughts and musings where interrupted by the sound of the cell door opening. With next to no light, she couldn't see it being opened or who was stepping through. That's when it struck her that this was unusual. Guards always carried torches. Either this person was a friend or Bismark and la Fayette had decided to remove her altogether.
"M'lady Joan de Arc." A voice said from the darkness. Though spoken in French, the voice was thick with the guttural accent of the Germans. "We are here to take you far from this wretched place."
Joan looked skeptically into the dark.
"Why would a German want to do that?" She asked back, wishing she could see her visitors in the dark.
"Because France and Germany were never meant to be one." A second, more refined voice said from behind the location of the first. "Come, you must trust me Lady de Arc. We do not have much time before Franco-German loyalist guards discover their unconscious comrades."
Throwing caution to the wind, Joan climbed to her feet and headed for the door.
"A cloak to cover you." The first voice said, matching actions to words and draping a cloak over her head.
"Is is night or day?" Joan asked as they headed quickly for the exit.
First voice chuckled.
"Night of course, m'lady." He said. "When else would we try a prison break?"
The door opened before them and Joan faltered.
"Do not panic, Lady de Arc." Voice two said. "These guards are our own. Two of us would not have over powered the prison alone."
Passing through the open door, even the moonlit night was harsh to Joan's eyes and she had to half-cover them. Her rescuers guided her up the steps at a quick pace to a waiting carriage. Once she was inside, it moved off, the foot soldiers falling into a quick jog alongside it.
As the carriage moved through Berlin, the foot soldiers slowly fell away until the carriage was on its own as it left the city. Her companions remained quiet, their cloaks still covering their faces. Finally, Joan could not hold on any longer.
"Who are you?" She asked.
The person opposite her, who Joan had tentatively identified as Voice Two, pulled the hood from his head. The face that stared back at her caused Joan to suck in a breath through clenched teeth.
"You look like..." She began.
"...like King Frederick?" The man replied. "I would hope so. I am Prince Frederick the Third, son of King Frederick II and rightful heir to the throne."
Well, it's been a while, but I've finally returned and here is a quick ***-bit for the continuation:
The Rescue
The days and nights had melded into one. For Joan de Arc, the darkness of the Berlin dungeons was her only companion. General la Fayette had taken great pride in telling her that Joan's direct descendents had been imprisoned in the very same cell so many centuries ago during the last war for the throne. Like she had done so many times before, Joan sighed a bone-weary sigh and shifted position to try and relieve the soreness from lying on stones in one place for too long.
Joan ran her hand through the mop of unkempt brown hair that had grown while left to rot in her cell. She had always kept her head bald for the sake of maintenance, but that was now impossible. She felt something crawl through her hair and quickly withdrew her hand in disgust.
Her first weeks in the dungeon had been spent trying to find out what was going on from the guards, General la Fayette, even Bismark when he decided to come and crow about his victory. She had a vague idea about what was going on, but everybody seemed content to keep her in the dark, both literally and figuratively speaking.
There was no chance of escape from the prison, not unassisted anyway. The Berlin dungeons were well below ground, far away from light and with only one entrance and exit. Her path to freedom would be short, brutal and ultimately end in death. So, instead of contemplating escape, she mentally set about trying to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of what was going on.
The biggest piece she had was the reference Bismark had made to la Fayette just before she'd blacked out. 'Welcome back to the French-Germans.' he had said, or as they were more commonly called, the Franco-Germans. The name seemed ridiculous, a hodge-podge of two names just rammed together to make one. But it was the lynch pin for her current predicament and she needed to build the puzzle around it to find her solution.
For some reason, a lot of people, both French and Germans, had strong, patriotic ties to the Franco-Germans. The fact that nearly her entire army had defected to this new clan gave testament to that. Apparently Bismark had an equally strong army outside of Berlin waiting in case the French contingent failed in their bid to liberate the city.
But exactly what were the origins of the Franco-Germans? How long had they existed in the dark, and why did Bismark make reference to the effect that la Fayette had effectively left the Franco-Germans before. General la Fayette was French born-and-bred. Joan, like any good clan leader, kept close tabs on her high ranking personnel. Obviously not close enough. She thought ironically.
Joan's thoughts and musings where interrupted by the sound of the cell door opening. With next to no light, she couldn't see it being opened or who was stepping through. That's when it struck her that this was unusual. Guards always carried torches. Either this person was a friend or Bismark and la Fayette had decided to remove her altogether.
"M'lady Joan de Arc." A voice said from the darkness. Though spoken in French, the voice was thick with the guttural accent of the Germans. "We are here to take you far from this wretched place."
Joan looked skeptically into the dark.
"Why would a German want to do that?" She asked back, wishing she could see her visitors in the dark.
"Because France and Germany were never meant to be one." A second, more refined voice said from behind the location of the first. "Come, you must trust me Lady de Arc. We do not have much time before Franco-German loyalist guards discover their unconscious comrades."
Throwing caution to the wind, Joan climbed to her feet and headed for the door.
"A cloak to cover you." The first voice said, matching actions to words and draping a cloak over her head.
"Is is night or day?" Joan asked as they headed quickly for the exit.
First voice chuckled.
"Night of course, m'lady." He said. "When else would we try a prison break?"
The door opened before them and Joan faltered.
"Do not panic, Lady de Arc." Voice two said. "These guards are our own. Two of us would not have over powered the prison alone."
Passing through the open door, even the moonlit night was harsh to Joan's eyes and she had to half-cover them. Her rescuers guided her up the steps at a quick pace to a waiting carriage. Once she was inside, it moved off, the foot soldiers falling into a quick jog alongside it.
As the carriage moved through Berlin, the foot soldiers slowly fell away until the carriage was on its own as it left the city. Her companions remained quiet, their cloaks still covering their faces. Finally, Joan could not hold on any longer.
"Who are you?" She asked.
The person opposite her, who Joan had tentatively identified as Voice Two, pulled the hood from his head. The face that stared back at her caused Joan to suck in a breath through clenched teeth.
"You look like..." She began.
"...like King Frederick?" The man replied. "I would hope so. I am Prince Frederick the Third, son of King Frederick II and rightful heir to the throne."
(check your 1st post)
(oh this is a really bad obscure Wayne's World reference; not that I thought your depiction was bad). I enjoyed the prison scene more than the dialogue parts, but this has always been a cool story so keep going!
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